


Don't Drink if the Mead Tastes Funny

by KaterinaRiley



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friendship, Gen, Kidnapping, POV Arthur, attempted slave trade, drugged merlin, magical object, no reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-04 02:10:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaterinaRiley/pseuds/KaterinaRiley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all Arthur's fault! Merlin didn't want to drink the mead -it tasted funny- but oh no, Arthur just insisted that Merlin quit acting like a girl. So what happens? They get kidnapped and Arthur's about to be sold as a slave, that's what! It's all Arthur's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Drink if the Mead Tastes Funny

**Author's Note:**

> I have never experienced being drunk or drugged, so I'm not entirely sure how to do it; I just went with how my fingers typed it. Hope it isn't too much of a stretch!
> 
> Edited April 18, 2014. I have a feeling I'll edit this again someday. The wording just...ugh >.

_((Prologue))_

It had been a very, very long day for the Prince of Camelot. Very long day. There was meetings in the morning, then a few hours of training, then more meetings, more training, a short lunch, a few more meetings, and, finally, a long discussion with the King concerning the future of Camelot, the future of the Prince, and the future in general. _And then_ there was the lengthy process of making yet another speech for the feast tomorrow since the first one hadn’t been “good enough” according to the King. Thinking back on it, the Prince really should’ve just taken the one his manservant had made – it would’ve given him at least two hours of his life back.

Speaking of the Prince’s manservant, if the Prince had a busy day, his manservant had an even busier one. He cleaned, he polished, he mucked, he cleaned again, he sat –actually he _stood_ – in on three boring –uh, he meant _insightfully stodgy_ – meetings, he mended, he mucked, and then, after all of that, he had to edit and revise a half-arsed speech since _someone_ was being a stubborn toad and refused to use the one he’d spent _hours_ working on. If that wasn’t enough, at the end of the day he had to deal with a cranky and rude prat-of-a-Prince.                               

Going to the tavern was a well-needed reprieve for the both of them.

Or so they thought.

**x~X~x**

“Arthur, this mead smells…strange.”

The prince rolled his eyes and huffed. “Merlin, I got that mead from the barmaid myself. I, the Prince, actually got up and got you some mead. You should feel honored.”

Scowling, Merlin sniffed the cup again apprehensively.

“Oh for the love of – Here,” Arthur reached across the table and tipped Merlin’s cup, forcing the manservant to take a big gulp.

Coughing and sputtering and generally trying not to drown, Merlin glared, wiping away liquid from his face with his shirtsleeve. “What the hell was that for?” he demanded.

Fighting back a grin, the Prince replied, “You were being a girl.”

Arthur would never admit it, but he rather enjoyed the playful banter he and Merlin would engage in, even if it wasn’t appropriate. Actually, that’s what made it all the more fun – Arthur treated his servant like an (almost) equal and Merlin, in turn, treated the Prince like a friend.

“I am _not_ a girl,” came the automatic, indigent reply.

Smirking, Arthur slid the cup of mead closer to Merlin, “Then prove it.”

Eyeing it wearily, he muttered, more to himself than to Arthur, “But it tastes funny.”

“I do believe Morgana has a blue dress that would suit you nicely, _Mer_ lin.”

After taking a moment to glare at Arthur, who laughed at the ridiculous look on his manservant’s face, Merlin chugged the rest of the mead in one go. Slamming the empty tankard down, Merlin wiped his mouth on his sleeve, grimacing as though he’d just taken one of Gaius’ potions.

“That was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever done.”

“Probably the manliest too,” Arthur said, unable to contain his laughter.

Merlin huffed. “I think mucking out horse shite can be considered manly.”

“No, it’s considered work. _Servant’s_ work.”

Merlin made a show of thinking. “But maidservants don’t do it. They only ever tidy rooms or wash clothes or cook in the kitchen. Occasionally they have to clean a noble.”

Shaking his head in dismay, Arthur tried to contain his (ill-placed) amusement. “Only you, _Mer_ lin, can make nobles and royals sound like pieces of furniture needing a polish.

The man’s lips quirked into a short smile. “It’s one of my many charms.”

Arthur leaned forward, seizing the opportunity to mock his friend. “Oh? Tell me more about these so-called _charms_ you have.”

**x~X~x**

Several hours later found the Prince and manservant walking back home. Actually, ‘walking’ wouldn’t be the right word. Arthur was more or less dragging Merlin back to the castle – one arm was grasping Merlin’s slender waist in an effort to hold the drunkard up and the other was holding Merlin’s arm, which was slung across Arthur’s shoulders for balance.

“I knew you were a light-weight, Merlin, but seriously? You only had one cup!”

Looking up to the night sky, Merlin giggled and, completely ignoring Arthur’s comment, said, “Aren’t stars pretty? Wonder wha’ they’re made of. What d’ya think, Arthur?”

After learning that Merlin’s charms included, but weren’t limited to, juggling, weaving, and cooking (though Arthur already knew that one since Merlin was the only reason he didn’t starve during hunting trips), the Prince also discovered Merlin could sing, quite well actually, and, somehow, he managed to get the whole tavern –except Arthur, of course– to harmonize to Song of the Traveler.

As the hours passed, the more outrageous and stentorian Merlin became. It was obviously time to go once, after hearing a rather shabby joke, Merlin had laughed so hard he fell out of his chair and couldn’t get back up.

“I don’t know, Merlin. I’ve never really thought about it,” Arthur sighed, wishing he could be as drunk as Merlin; alcohol-induced headaches are one thing, but _Merlin_ -induced headaches are another thing entirely. “Now quite quit being a girl and _move your damn legs_.”

“Hmm?” Merlin lazily looked down at his feet, which were being dragged in the dirt. “Oh. Sorry,” he said dazedly.

Just as Merlin put his weight back onto his feet, albeit a bit shakily, his whole demeanor changed. It was as if he had become suddenly sober; Merlin jerked his head up, his hazy eyes clear and focused as he searched the deserted streets. If Arthur didn’t know any better, he would’ve said Merlin _sensed_ something.

“Shhh…” a hand came up to cover Arthur’s mouth. “Did ja hear tha’?” Merlin asked, his words slurring only marginally less than before.

However, since the Prince _did_ know better, he dismissed the odd behavior easily. Removing the hand, Arthur answered testily, “No Merlin, I did not hear the nonexistent sound that you think you h–”

Merlin flew out of his arms faster than one could blink. For a moment, Arthur stared dumbly at the empty space which his servant had occupied not even a second prior. Realization hit a heartbeat later and Arthur felt as though he’d been trampled by rampaging horses. As his hand reached for his sword, the Prince looked up to see four men. All were clad in black and wielded weapons, but only three of the men looked trained. They were big, burly, and most defiantly bad news. Alone, Arthur might’ve been able to take the three of them, but it was the fourth one that, while he looked as though a simple hug could break him, frightened Arthur the most.

“I would put that sword down if I were you,” the man said. He was tall and skinny, with not even a hint of muscle on him. Arthur supposed the man tried to snarl his demand, but his voice was too high to sound threatening. However, while his _voice_ didn’t scare Arthur in the slightest, the razor-thin dagger he was pressing into Merlin’s neck, which drew a hint of blood, scared Arthur more than he’d ever care to admit. Needless to say, he didn’t dare drop his sword.

“Told’ja I heard som’in,” Merlin said, trying to pry the arm off his neck. The man might have been skinner and less muscular than Merlin, but he had one advantage the manservant didn’t – he was completely sober.

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur hissed in warning.

Blinking owlishly, Merlin said, “Okay,” which surprised Arthur since Merlin almost neverlistened, much less obeyed him.

Except apparently when drunk. Arthur would have to remember that. For now, he set the thought aside for after they escaped.

“What do you want?” the Prince demanded, straightening himself in a way only one of royal blood could.

The skinny man laughed. “What do you think I want?” He paused before saying with a malice that didn’t suite his stature, “I want _you_ , Prince Arthur.”

Arthur snorted and tightened his grip on his sword. “Well you can’t have me.”

“I wouldn’t try anything stupid if I were you, Prince Arthur,” the man sneered. “Notice how no one’s coming to your rescue? Why do you think that is?”

Already, the night was chilly, but as understanding dawned on Arthur, the cool air suddenly became ice.

“Sorcery,” he hissed. It would also explain how Merlin was taken out of his arms when no one else was around them.

“Yes. Sorcery. The people here are all sleeping, and as soon as we leave, with _you_ I will add, they will wake up and their simple little brains won’t even detect anything amiss.” The skinny man smirked. “But that is not the only reason why you will come with us willingly.”

“Oh?” the Prince inquired, his voice full of incredulity. “You really think I’ll go with you without a fight?”

The skinny man tilted his head. For such a petite man, Arthur had difficulty not squirming under such a scrutinizing gaze.

“Well?” Arthur prompted, both annoyed and flabbergasted at the situation at hand.

In response, the skinny man cursed. Still clutching Merlin’s shoulders tightly, he lifted the dagger to point at the prince. “You drank the wrong tankard of mead,” he accused, and only because Arthur was paying close attention did he detect a slight tremor in Skinny Man’s voice. He wondered why the sorcerer could be so nervous over such a trivial thing, but then the implications of what the man had said registered fully.

Merlin _had_ been right about the mead. “Y-You tried to drug me!” Arthur yelled in outrage.

“Told’ja ’bout the mead,” Merlin slurred.

“Shut up,” Skinny Man hissed, and he shoved Merlin aside, into the nearest mercenary.

Merlin tried to regain his balance, but even without the drugs, he never had a good sense of balance; by trying to stop himself from ramming into the broad chest, he tripped, causing himself to hit his head even harder.

“Oww…” he whined.

“Hey!” Arthur shouted. He took a step forward, but the other two men blocked him.

Skinny Man cocked his head at the prince’s reaction, his eyes gaging. “Interesting…” he said, drawing out the word. Skinny Man’s eyes darted between the two captives, the taut silence intensifying. “You seem to…care…about this boy, Prince Arthur. Quite a bit.”

“I just don’t want to see him hurt.” Arthur spoke through gritted teeth, refusing even now to openly admit just how much he cared for his friend.

“Oh, is that _it_ , then?”

With a knowing smirk that had Arthur’s stomach churning, Skinny Man gave a short nod to the mercenary holding Merlin.

“What are you–?” Arthur’s demand was cut short as Merlin began to protest, loudly.

“Ow! No, stop! Stop!” Merlin cried. He struggled, trying to escape from the man’s tight grip on his upper arm. The longer the mercenary held on, the less Merlin spoke, opting to simply make whimpering noises. A harsh wind suddenly blew past, nearly knocking Arthur and the other men to the ground.

Finally, unable to watch anymore, Arthur shouted, “Stop! He’s my friend, okay? He’s my best friend! Stop it!”

With a dismissive flick of his wrist, Skinny Man nodded again and the mercenary removed his arm.

The wind stopped as well, and Arthur’s curiosity about the strange weather was quickly diverted when Skinny Man began talking again. Arthur dismissed the wind, putting in in a corner of his mind, promising to dwell on it later, and focused his energy on the present. (There were many other queer occurrences stashed away –falling tree branches, clumsy mercenaries, well-placed roots– but Arthur would always forget them, opting instead to celebrate the victory or needing to rush to Gaius to save one of his men.)

“Most interesting,” Skinny Man said thoughtfully, a touch of relief coloring his voice. Once again he observed the Prince, his beady eyes taking in even the smallest details. The instinct to shift uncomfortably was difficult to ignore, but Arthur managed. When Skinny Man’s eyes lingered on Arthur’s clenched hand, trailing down the sword’s sharp tip with unease and apprehension, Arthur smirked in his small triumph. The sorcerer still held fear for the Prince, and that was all Arthur needed.

His neck bobbed twice before Skinny Man had the courage to say anything. Arthur was disappointed to hear no tremor in the sorcerer’s voice.

“My name is Malvric,” Skinny Man, _Malvric_ , stated after several minutes. “And unless you wish to see Clyde actually break your servant’s arm, or maybe his neck, I suggest you come willingly.”

Arthur hesitated. Swallowing, he glanced around, hoping desperately that someone would wake up, or a guard would show up, and help them.

“No one’s coming to your rescue,” Malvric assured smugly, watching the Prince. “The spell should last until daybreak.”

As a last attempt to stall, Arthur snarled, “I can fight you all of you _myself_ , and by the time daybreak comes, none of you will be–”

“Perhaps,” Malvric interrupted smoothly. “I will not discredit your swordsmanship and I will not lie that you could very well take these three men before daybreak.” Pausing, Malvric locked eyes on the Prince. “But do you think you could take me? Do you think I’d let you fight these men and do nothing? No, you fight these men, and they won’t survive, but neither will your servant.”

Arthur’s blood ran cold. He hated to admit defeat, even for a short while, but he knew that if Merlin were to survive he would have to comply. Besides, they’ll get out. They always do.

“Fine,” Arthur gritted, dropping his sword. The two other mercenaries moved to his side, gripping his arms tightly.

“Good,” Malvric nodded approvingly, and Arthur wanted nothing more than to run him through. Turning to the Clyde, the remaining mercenary, Malvric said, “Kill the boy.”

“What!? No!” Arthur shouted outraged, struggling to break free.

Malvric laughed. “What? You really expected us to let him live? We don’t need him.”

Clyde extended his hand toward Merlin’s neck as Arthur watched in horror. For a terrifying moment, it seemed that the manservant was too drugged to understand what the hand reaching for him was meant to do, but at the last possible second, Merlin ducked out of the way, scrambling toward…toward Arthur actually.

Somehow, he’s going to blame it on adrenaline and his brute strength, Arthur managed break free from the two other mercenaries, grab one of their swords, and push Merlin behind him.

No one noticed the gold eyes turning back into blue.

“You want me? Fine. But you take Merlin too. You take him _alive_ ,” Arthur growled, glaring into the startled eyes of each man.

Malvric scowled. “I am a sorcerer,” he drawled, emphasizing each word. “And these are three of the best mercenaries in all of Mercia. You are just one man with a sword and a cowering servant. What can you possibly do?”

“Ah, but you said yourself. I am Prince Arthur, the absolute best swordsman in all this land.” This time, it was Arthur’s turns to speak smugly.

“Yes, but I am a _sorcerer_ ,” Malvric stressed. Stretching his hand out, Malvric whispered unrecognizable words, sending Merlin, once again, into his arms. This time, there was a loud _RIIIIP_ and a _CLICK_.

“Since we cannot get you to come quietly, I am forced to take drastic measures. This bracelet,” Malvric holds up Merlin’s (now sleeveless) arm, showing off a skin-tight armlet, “Binds your servant to _me_. Wherever I go, he must go; else he dies from a very painful headache.”

Shoving Merlin aside, Malvric watched in amusement as the boy stumbled to the ground. His amusement transformed into unadulterated glee when the Prince fell down to his knees to check on the servant. Arthur helped Merlin stand, even brushed dust off his shirt before pushing Merlin, once again, safely behind him 

Malvric continued speaking after a moment, his glee still evident. “And I do mean painful. Ear-bleeding painful. Mind- _crushing_ painful.”

Arthur swallowed; he felt the blood drain from his face.

“Also, this represses any magical influence that means to do him good.” Malvric laughed. “I suppose it’s a good thing he’s not a sorcerer.” Malvric laughed harder at the enraged look on the Prince’s face. Lucky for him, Clyde and the two other mercenaries pulled Arthur back, securing him before he can attack their leader. “He’d probably be a very poor sorcerer, having very weak magic. If that were the case, this bracelet would probably kill him. However, since that can’t be true, he’ll be fine so long as he stays close to me.”

Pausing, Malvric took a moment to enjoy the look of pure rage on Prince Arthur’s face.

“At least he’s alive,” the Prince gritted out; his voice was tight with anger, but there was also an amount of victory in his voice that couldn’t be ignored by even a deaf man.

The smile slipped from Malvric’s face and Arthur smirked, knowing he might’ve lost this battle, but it wasn’t a complete annihilation. Merlin was still alive.

“The horses are this way.” Malvric said tartly. He turned on his heel, not bothering to look back.

Arthur yanked away from the mercenaries’ grip, making sure to fix them with a fierce glare. He then turned around only to find his servant sitting on the ground. Merlin looked up and blinked innocently at his Prince saying, “I got tired.”

Containing a laugh that wouldn’t be appropriate for the situation, the Prince helped his friend up.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Merlin gave Arthur a flashing smile and it was all the evidence the Prince needed to know his friend was still as drunk as ever. (However, he did scratch at the armlet as if it were itching like mad.)

Clyde pushed the Prince and servant forward, leaving the duo no other choice but to follow the skinny man ahead of them. After only a few steps, Arthur was back to practically carrying Merlin again, who was babbling about the stars and asking why his arm itched so much and then he was back to the stars and how they looked just so pretty…

Arthur knew they had to escape. It wouldn’t be easy with Merlin’s system overwhelmed with drugs, but Arthur absolutely refused to even _think_ about the possibility of leaving Merlin behind. That was never going to happen.

**x~X~x**

It was midday when they finally stopped riding. Arthur and Merlin in the middle of the group –it took much convincing on the Prince’s part for Malvric to let them share since there was no way Arthur was going to let Merlin ride with that sorcerer– with two of the mercenaries beside them, Clyde behind them, and the sorcerer himself leading the way. There were no stops whatsoever and it was practically hell sitting atop the bloody horse for hours and hours. The men ate whatever was in their bags, meaning Arthur and Merlin went without.

“My arm is itchy,” Merlin complained, his words muffled by Arthur’s back. “An’ I’m hungry.”

“You’ll be fine,” Arthur assured. He patted Merlin’s knee wondering how the hell they were going to get out of this one. He felt the pressure between his shoulder blades relent even as the pressure in his stomach continued. (Gods, he was hungry!)

“Where’d the stars go?” asked the still-drugged manservant. (Seriously, what the hell had been inthat mead?!) Even though Arthur couldn’t see him, he knew Merlin’s head was tilted up to the sky and that there was a baffled expression on his face.

Sometimes Arthur wondered why, of all people, it was _Merlin_ whom his brain had decided would make a great friend for him and would be the perfect person to help him realize that he actually has feelings –which are terrible, dreadful things that only girls should possess– and that he should use these feelings to care for others and be friendly and nice on a level that’s higher than sheer politeness. 

Thinking about how much Merlin was s beginning to mean to him meant that Arthur absolutely refused to even _think_ of Guinevere for fear of turning into a blubbering girl because he’s afraid that Guinevere might possibly maybe be a bit more than ‘just a servant girl’ to him – even more than how Merlin’s not ‘just his servant’.

Arthur sighed. He half-wished he had actually been the one to be drugged; then, he wouldn’t have been in danger of thinking all those horribly emotional thoughts and he wouldn’t be trying to ignore the major headache that said thoughts brought him. Also, the Crown Prince has very little patience to begin with and, after everything that’s been going on, both inside and outside his head, his patience tolerance is nearly spent. Merlin hadn’t shut up the entire ride, but unlike his usual mindless prattle, there wasn’t any way for Arthur to communicate with him. It was almost as bad as Gwaine’s chatter (but because Merlin hadn’t been talking about apples, taverns, or tavern wenches, Gwaine’s chattering was still worse).

“I miss them,” Merlin continued. “I want them back.” He paused. “Arthur, ‘m tired. Can we stop now?”

“Not yet, I don’t thi–”

“Actually, yes we can,” came Malvric’s voice.

“Great!” Merlin cheered. Arthur didn’t need to see his friend’s face to know the blinding grin he’d have on it. “Imma get off now, kay?”

“No, wait, Mer–”

Arthur heard the _‘OOF!’_ as the younger man slid off the horse and plopped, rather unceremoniously, to the ground.

“–lin.” He leaned over the horse. Merlin was sprawled on the ground, his lanky limbs everywhere. “You okay there?”

“Fine,” Merlin groaned. He turned onto his back. “Hey! That cloud looks like a castle!”

Sighing, Arthur got off the horse and took Merlin’s outstretched hand, the one pointing to the “castle cloud”, jerking his narcotized servant to his feet.

With Merlin leaning heavily on Arthur, still searching the skies for “funny-shaped clouds” and itching his arm with a strange vigor, the Prince asked, “So why’d we stop?” to the skinny man still on his own horse.

Malvric frowned. “That is of no concern to you.”

“Sir,” someone says behind them.

Arthur turned to see Clyde pointing forward. He turned again, this time seeing three people step out from what appeared to be thin air. Well, a darkened patch of thin air, so a shadow, but still it was out of practically nothing that the men appeared from.

 _Sorcerers_ , Arthur’s mind automatically supplied.

Two of them were finely dressed, one more so than the other, but their third companion was obviously hired help. The first words than ran through Arthur’s mind were: _Fantastic._ And: _Another mercenary. Great._

How on earth was he supposed to get them out now?

“Malvric,” the well-clothed man states coldly. He wore green with gold and silver trimming. “You were only supposed to bring the Prince.” He eyed the pair; Merlin was grinning dopily while the Prince himself was glaring at the newcomers, pressing his servant closer to him. “And he was supposed to be drugged.”

Malvric winced. “There were…complications." 

“I see.”

The other well-clothed man –he wore a rich, earthy brown with gold trimming– stepped closer toward the duo. The way he looked them, Arthur felt as if he were being stripped down layer by layer so that the posh man could see everything about him; his emotions, weaknesses, fears. Then his gaze focused. On Merlin’s arm.

“What is that? On the boy?”

“The bracelet?” Malvric asked. “It’s the binding trinket. I had to use it as leverage over the Prince. He cares for the servant.”

Arthur hated that they were talking about him as if he weren’t there. He hated even more how obvious his and Merlin’s friendship was to them.

“You die, he dies; yes?” the Green asked, watching Merlin as if he were the most disgusting and vile thing that deserved nothing more than death. Merlin had ceased his chatter and was now starting right back at the man; confusion and a touch of fear etched in his features. Green’s face was blanketed in a calm impassive emotion, but Arthur’s dealt with enough Lords and rich men to read their faces easily. Once again, the Prince’s grip tightened on his servant. He was not going to let Merlin go 

Malvric audibly gulped. “Yes, sire. That’s correct.”

Green smirked. “Excellent.” Turning to the mercenaries –his own and the three that arrived as part of Arthur’s bodyguards– and said, quite bluntly, “Kill him.”

“What!?”

Arthur yelled it; Malvric squeaked it.

“No! Please, sir! Please!” Malvric fell to his knees. “I did what you asked! I-”

“Did _not_ do what I ordered,” Green corrected harshly. “I said to bring the Prince and only the Prince yet there’s a manservant here too. I said to make sure he was thoroughly drugged yet _he_ _is not_.”

"Make him take off the bracelet then!” Arthur shouted. He was both desperate and furious. “Don’t kill Merlin for his stupid mistake!”

Green turned toward the Prince and Arthur’s sure he’s never seen a more evil sneer. “He wasn’t supposed to be here anyway, _your highness_.” Unlike Merlin, there wasn’t any fondness or friendly joking when he disrespected Arthur’s title. “I have no qualms with his death. I don’t even know him.”

“Arthur?” asked a timid, quiet voice.

The Prince looked down at Merlin. The boy’s eyes were big and questioning. He might be drugged and he might be unable to hold himself up or carry a conversation, but he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t an idiot. Merlin knew something was going on. It was obvious he wasn’t sure what, but the servant looked aware enough to appear scared.

Arthur gripped his friend tighter.

“You won’t kill him. I’ll kill you first,” he ground out, his voice low and cold as he stared down each and every man.

Everybody took a step back, even the mercenaries; they eyed the Prince nervously. Green didn’t flinch, but something flashed in his eyes and Arthur knew it wasn’t anger; he’d seen enough fear in his enemy’s eyes to identify it no matter how quickly it was shown.

Then, surprisingly, the second man stepped forward, beckoning Merlin to come forward.

Arthur nearly impaled himself on his own sword when Merlin actually removed himself from Arthur’s grasp and _stepped forward_.

“How do you know who I am?” he asked even though the man hadn’t said a word about Merlin’s name.

Instead of answering, the man placed a hand on the bracelet and his eyes glowed. The bracelet fell off.

“Why did you do that Bayard?” the Green asked in disgust. “And what are we to do with him now?” He gestured to Malvric.

With a resigned sigh, Bayard’s eyes glowed gold again and Malvric’s neck twisted roughly to the side. There was a loud sound as his neck broke and his body crumbled to the ground.

“We do nothing with him,” Bayard answered. Turning to the mercenaries, he said, “Now off with you. You’ll find your pay in your pockets.”

Green’s hand immediately went to his side. “Dammit Bayard! I wasn’t _actually_ going to pay them!” 

“Hush, Adair,” Bayard said. “It’s done now and we have more important matters.”

Adair –and Arthur wasn’t going to think on the fact that he had actually called the man _Green_ in his mind– turned to Arthur and glared. “Yes, you’re right. How are we to get him to the slave traders without being drugged?”

“You know I can still hear you?” Arthur asked exasperated.

“Silence,” Bayard said. With a wave of his hand and a flash of golden eyes, Arthur suddenly found himself mute.

“Arthur?” Merlin took a few steps back, reaching out to his friend, but stopped when Bayard grabbed his arm.

“What did you do to him?” Merlin asked, concern flashing in his still-glazed eyes.

“Nothing you need to worry yourself over,” Bayard answered. He turned to Arthur, “Sweet dreams, Princeling.”

Arthur’s vision turned black and the last thing he heard was Merlin’s cry of “Arthur!” as he crumbled to the ground.

**x~X~x**

Images danced behind Arthur’s eyelids. Voices, unfamiliar and undulating, whispered in his ears.

When he finally woke up, it was to a dark cell with a definitely not-drugged Merlin watching over him.

“Arthur!” Merlin breathed out in relief, scrambling over to him in haste. He didn’t get very far; a chain, attaching to a metal collar that looked extremely uncomfortable, was embedded in the wall, only allowing for a few feet of movement.

Sitting up, which he really shouldn’t have done so fast because, whoa, the room spun way faster than it ever should, Arthur discovered a similar object on his own neck.

“What?” he croaked out, fingering the very unwelcomed metal collar.

Merlin bit his lip; his eyes flickered to the ground. “I…I don’t know. I can’t remember anything.”

Arthur stopped tentatively flexing his muscles –everything was still in working order; no broken bones or sprains or too-painful bruises– and turned his body (he couldn’t turn his head) to face his manservant.

“Really?”

Merlin nodded glumly, his hand rubbed his bare arm nervously. “I can remember the tavern, sort of, and leaving the tavern, but after that… It’s all bits and pieces…and it doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“Oh…”

Once he had his mind wrapped around it, the sudden reversal of roles shocked Arthur. Usually _he’s_ the one who wakes up with nearly no memory of the incident(s), having to rely on Merlin to fill in the many missing pieces. This new situation he found himself in is both strange and (almost) exciting.

“Well,” Arthur began. “What _do_ you remember? After leaving the tavern?”

Merlin blushed, murmuring incoherently until he finally said, “I think…I was babbling about starts.”

Arthur let out a short bark of laughter. “Yeah, you were.”

“And…and I think…” Merlin trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

“Yes?”

Merlin’s eyes flickered to Arthur’s. “…You saved me. Many times. And called me your best friend.”

 _Oh. Right,_ Arthur thought. He said that. For a second, he contemplated denying it, but then he saw Merlin’s hopefully face (the girl) and the dark, gloomy stone walls, he felt the collar’s biting coldness around his neck and he just couldn’t deny the truth once again.

“Yeah,” Arthur admitted. “I suppose I did.”

Merlin beamed at him and Arthur guessed they were having a “moment” (or whatever it was that Guinevere called it) where their “friendship was truly beginning to blossom” or some crazy female shite like that.

And dammit if Arthur was actually enjoying it. A bit. Just a little. Okay, now it’s getting to be a bit too much.

Apparently Merlin was having the same thoughts because he gave an awkward cough and asked, “Where are we?”

Arthur looked around, as best he could with the chain around his neck. “Well, Merlin it would appear to be some sort of cell.”

Merlin scowled, opening his mouth to retort to that, probably about to say something entirely disrespectful, but Arthur continued.

“I know we’re still within Camelot’s boarders. We’re over ten miles Southeast, but I can’t be sure of where we are exactly until we’re outside.”

Merlin closes his jaw and swallows. “O-Oh,” he said quietly. “How do you know that?”

“I…” Arthur glanced at Merlin from the corner of his eye. “I wasn’t drugged.”

It only took a few moments for that to process and then Merlin’s glaring at Arthur again. “I _told_ you that mead tasted funny.”

“Oh, shut up,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes. But he was also smiling. He looked over at Merlin, fully expecting to see him smiling too, but instead, Merlin looks as though someone punched him.

Arthur knew that feeling all too well.

“What is it? What do you remember?”

Something like caution and fear flicker in Merlin’s eyes, but that’s ridiculous because Arthur can’t think of a single reason Merlin would have to be cautious or fearful around him.

“I…” Merlin took a deep breath and looked away, pulling his knees to his chest. “We’re captured by two men, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” Arthur said slowly. “What is it Merlin? What do you remember?”

His friend’s eyes flicker again, like he’s unsure of what to say. “They…They spoke to me. Or, no. One of them. One of them spoke to me.”

“Which one?” Arthur asked because even though both the men are not high on his ‘Let’s Be Friends’ list, there’s one that’s definitely much worse than the other, and if Merlin is only using the words ‘spoke to me’ as a euphemism for something else…

“Uh, I… I don’t…” Merlin stared intensely at the ground as he searched his memory.

Arthur seriously hoped it was–

“Brown,” he eventually said. “He was wearing brown. That’s all I remember.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Arthur said, “That’s Bayard.”

“He’s a sorcerer,” Merlin said quietly.

An uneasy silence fell between the two friends. Slowly, Arthur looked up. “What did you two…discuss?”

And for the third time in less than ten minutes, Merlin’s eyes flashed with caution and fear. He’s silent for so long Arthur thought Merlin wasn’t going to answer at all, which wasn’t soothing his imagination in any way, but finally Merlin spoke.

“He asked me about…about Emrys.”

“…Who?”

“Emrys. I don’t know him though. I told him as such and he…he didn’t seem to like that.”

That was when the cell door opened and their captors stood in all their ugly glory. They were both carrying what appeared to be cold, burnt porridge. After they dropped it in front of their captives, some of the substance glopping out, Arthur could conclude that yes, it was in fact cold, burnt porridge.

“Nice to see you awake, my liege,” Adair drawled, mockingly bowing to him. “I hope you’re ready to be sold, Prince Arthur.”

Beside him, Arthur heard Merlin take in a sharp breath and he silently cursed himself. He told Merlin of their capture, which was obvious to begin with, but he had forgotten the most important part – he was to be sold.

“How are you feeling, Merlin?” Bayard asked, looking much kinder than Adair.

“Um, fine. I’m fine, Bayard.” Merlin replied, glancing between Arthur and their captors frantically.

Bayard raised an eyebrow. “You remember?”

With anther glance toward Arthur, Merlin answered, “Yes. A little bit.”

“Do you recall our conversation?”

“…Parts of it,” Merlin said reluctantly. His eyes darted back to Arthur and the Prince wanted nothing more than to reach a reassuring hand toward him. Or maybe just be several days away from their captors. That would work too.

“Remember, you are to address me as Master, as I have bought you,” Bayard said plainly. Merlin pales at the obviously forgotten part of their conversation.

“ _What_!?” Arthur cried out, outraged. He moved to lunge at Bayard, but the chain wouldn’t let him get even a foot closer.

“And I still have yet to fathom why you want _him_ ,” Adrian cut in, completely ignoring Arthur again. “You could’ve bought the Prince himself. In fact, that was the plan. Keeping him for ourselves.”

Bayard scoffed, “I already told you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” Adrian muttered. He looked pointedly at Arthur. “Just be ready for slave’s work. That’s what you’re going to be Prince Arthur; slave to all the magic users.”

They exit with an exaggeratedly mocking bow. As the door shuts, both Arthur and Merlin can hear them laughing. They listen to the sound echoing until it disappears.

Arthur turned toward Merlin. He clenched his fists at the sight – Merlin’s entire body is shaking with…with something. Not fear, but definitely something. Perhaps anger or shock. It’s most likely the latter, but Arthur is seething with rage because – _dammit!_ – Merlin is his! His servant, his friend. Bayard can’t just come strolling in here and say that Merlin suddenly belongs to _him_. Merlin is a person and no person should be bought! Camelot has no slaves, only servants who get paid for their work. One of the knight’s duties is to _stop_ slave trade, and Merlin is no one’s slave.

“Okay, here’s the plan.”

**x~X~x**

It’s all rather anticlimactic.

Gulping down the cold, burnt porridge (because as it turned out, they both were completely famished – with good reason) they waited until Adrian and Bayard come back to release them, which, as it turned out, wasn’t actually Adrian and Bayard, but two other men. Arthur’s positive they were mercenaries. He had half a mind to stay to ask just where they managed to find so many mercenaries, but the thought was dismissed nearly as soon as it appeared.

The two men move to bind Arthur and Merlin’s wrists behind their backs, but Arthur simply twisted and knocked his mercenary out with a well-aimed blow to the temple. Merlin was, obviously, having more trouble, but Arthur swiftly dispensed the mercenary, and in no time there were two unconscious men in an otherwise empty cell.

Sneaking out wasn’t as difficult as it normally was either. The cell appeared to be the only solid thing in the camp –it was in a cave– while the rest of the land was scattered with tents. Actually, just three tents; one big one, which is very obviously Adrian and Bayard’s, and two smaller ones, which is probably where the rest of the mercenaries sleep. From the snoring coming from the first tent, Arthur can only conclude that these are truly terrible hired killers.

The only time when they’re almost caught is when they’re on their way to get the horses.

“Wait,” Merlin hissed, yanking Arthur’s arm back. “Someone’s charmed them.”

“What?” Arthur whisperd back. “For what? How can you tell?”

The manservant vaguely gestured toward the horses. “Can’t you see the charms? Right there?” Honestly, Arthur couldn’t, but he wasn’t about to admit that. Merlin continued by saying, “And why else would they charm the horses besides an alarm for if their prisoners escape and decide to take the horses?”

The logic was, unfortunately, sound, and if there’s a charm, well that certainly took the horses out of the getaway equation.

Arthur cursed. “The how are we to escape? They’ll catch us if we go on foot.”

Then, as if the gods were blessing them, a single mercenary appeared in the distance, his horse galloping slowly.

Arthur didn’t think. When the mercenary was close enough, the Prince flung himself at him, wrestling the man until Arthur finally succeeded in rendering him unconscious. Turning back to Merlin, he was proud to see his friend holding the reins of a very calm horse.

“Looks like we got our getaway horse,” Arthur said smugly. The gods were certainly finding favor on their escape.

Merlin frowned. “There’s only one horse.”

“One uncharmed horse, you mean. And there’s no way we’re staying here waiting for another horse just so you can ride alone.” Arthur swung himself up on the horse then made an impatient gesture for Merlin to _hurry up and get your arse on this horse._

Rolling his eyes and huffing out what sounding like _you prat_ , Merlin also swung himself upon the horse.

Before nudging the horse into action, Arthur looked back toward the camp. “Did that seem…a bit easy to you?”

“Don’t take this for granted Arthur,” Merlin chided. “Let’s go.”

And Arthur fully intended to do that, but then another thought crossed his mind and he twisted around to face Merlin before saying, “Yeah, but doesn’t it seem strange? No one seemed to hear us, as though we were completely invisible.”

Arthur remembered the shock on the mercenary’s face when he tackled him out of the horse. His swings and blows had been wide and completely off-target, as if he actually couldn’t see Arthur.

For one second, Merlin’s lips curled into a prideful smile, but it disappeared so quickly and Merlin looked exasperated once again, that Arthur wasn’t sure if he imagined that smile.

“For gods’ sake, Arthur, go!”

This time, Arthur did.

**x~X~x**

_((Epilogue))_

Arthur knew they’ve still have a long way to go, but the horse was tired –he _was_ carrying two people – and walking won’t hurt either of them, Prince or manservant. They stopped at a stream for a quick water break and Arthur was lying in the grass while Merlin stood, stretching his muscles. They’ve seen no sign of the slave traders and Arthur wasn’t going to dwell too much on that fact, just in case.

“Sit down, Merlin,” Arthur said, patting a space beside him. “We’ve got time to relax a bit.”

Merlin didn’t answer. He chewed on his lip and Arthur knew his friend was thinking about something he’s deemed important.

“Arthur,” he finally said. He spoke slowly, like he’s unsure how to start the conversation. Arthur stood up, facing Merlin, and waited until Merlin was ready to speak again. He doesn’t wait long. “What Bayard said, about–”

“No, Merlin,” Arthur interrupted quickly. “You most certainly do _not_ belong to him. Firstly, we escaped, so there’s that. Secondly, no man should ever belongto another. There are no slaves in Camelot, and there never will be.”

Merlin smiled. It’s genuine and light and Arthur is once again reminded how much this slender boy has changed not only Camelot, but Arthur himself.

“I’m glad to hear that, Arthur, but what I was going to say was that, well, if I _had_ to be owned by someone, if I had to serve just a single person on this entire earth, I would consider it an honor for it to be you.”

Arthur’s throat went dry at that. “Merlin, you don’t need to–”

“Yes, I _do_ need to say it,” Merlin interrupted. “You’re going to be a great King someday Arthur. And I’ll be happy to serve that King until I take my final breath.”

Arthur didn’t know what to say. He looked at Merlin, really looked, and for a long moment, they simply stared at each other. Slowly, Arthur brought his arm forward. Merlin, without breaking eye-contact, reached out and grasped it. A smile curled on both their faces. Suddenly, Arthur tugged Merlin into him and, though they do more of a bump than an actually hug, they laugh and grin through it all.

“So _Mer_ lin,” Arthur said once they’ve started walking again. “Since you’re so keen to serve me, when we get home, you’ll muck out the stables, do the laundy–”

“Prat, I said when you’re _King_! And you don’t look like a King to me!”

Merlin grinned and Arthur laughed.

For the rest of the way home, the two friends bickered and laughed and enjoyed each other’s company. Tomorrow they’ll worry about their respected stations again, but for now, both are content to just be themselves.


End file.
